Defeat
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Loki, injured and disoriented, flees the SHIELD compound after suffering defeat at the hands of the Avengers. Prompt-response!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey friends!**

Here is a response to a prompt posted to the Loki/Jane community _payheravisit_ on livejournal (the fic can also be found there, along with a lot of other great L/J stuff!). Our friend **Selenite **posted this request, a fic based on or inspired by the song "Man of the Dark" by Jorn Lande. Please read the lyrics and/or listen to the song-it's really great and inspired me to write this...thingy. ^.^

For now I intend for this to be a oneshot, but I _may_ consider continuing it or adding onto it in some way at a later time! It is yet another Avenger-verse fic (won't we all be going fic-_bananas _after actually _seeing _the film?)!

Hope you enjoy, and I disclaim, of course, anything related to Thor or the Avengers!

* * *

><p>It was dark. So dark that even his preternatural vision had a difficult time piercing through it. So dark that for several minutes he did not know which direction he was going, what the strange soft feeling beneath his feet was, or where the wet stinging sensation that lashed against his face was originating from.<p>

Loki bit his lips against the pain that enveloped his body.

He was tired and injured, beaten in more ways than one, but he _would not stop_.

He ran. Ran through the bright, sterile halls of the medical facility he had awakened in, ran past the guards with their guns, chest heaving and eyes wild.

Ran until he was met with steely blue gaze of his brother.

He'd resorted to using what little energy for magic he had left, fleeing the SHIELD-infested building and landing in the cold sands of the desert outside.

And he continued to run.

He blinked then, his eyes fighting to focus against the blackness. His tongue ran across his bottom lip and realized it was not dry; the stinging feeling in his face was rain, lashing at him cold and angry. Thunder rolled over the desert and Loki knew that such storms were not entirely common for Midgaard's dry regions; Thor was in the air, searching for him, desperate and enraged.

It had been Thor that had caused him such injury, Thor that had brought him down so hard during his battle against SHIELD's recruited 'saviors'. He had been met with difficulty by their collective efforts, but it had been the raw power of Mjolnir that had finally broken through his defenses, that had overwhelmed the tesseract's power and sent him reeling in agony.

It had been Thor that had seen fit to ensure he would not get back up. That he would not continue to fight, or in Thor's own words, "…continue to threaten this world of mortals…."….

Could Thor not see that he did not intend to _threaten_ them, but liberate them?

Could none of them see?

Blood was in his mouth, internal injuries suffered from Mjolnir's blows doing their damage as he refused to rest. The sands under his bare feet were soaked through and he stumbled through them, nearly tripping and sinking several times. Faint lights glittered in the distance, a beacon of hope for his aching chest (and legs, and arms, and…). Lights meant a town. And a town meant buildings behind which he could hide…no, not hide-he would _never_ hide from anyone- merely breathe, rest, recuperate.

He would regain his strength and then return to finish the fools….

It did not matter that they had taken then tesseract from him, that they had defeated his army and destroyed his staff…

He would return. He would fight. And he would _win_.

As soon as he….

The loose, soggy ground beneath him gave way as he neared a protrusion of boulders, his numb legs failing him and sending his weary, half-naked body falling into the wet dirt. He spat the blood in his mouth into the accursed ground and moved to lift himself against a rock, his muscles on fire and his senses dulling quickly.

Loki stared into the darkness, the rain falling heavy now, and if he were a sentimental type of person he would wonder if Thor was becoming fearful for him, or, perhaps, even remorseful…

It _burned_ to breathe, and the air around him seemed to move as wind gusted about, whipping his long hair into his face. In the distance he could make out a strange rumble; not thunder, he concluded, but a machine…

Very likely Stark, bolting through the desert in his ridiculous armor (Loki would _not_ admit that the man's ingenuity rather impressed him a bit…no, he would never admit to such a thing….), but, as it grew closer, he realized it was too loud and abrasive to be the same type of technology.

Loki listened, his tired eyes closing and his body threatening to shut down from his exertion. If Thor and the others were to find him now, he would have no way of fighting them. They would take him again, lock him away in their facility and shove those wretched needles into his arms again, all in the name of "helping him to heal".

His head rolled slightly as exhaustion combined with lingering rage.

He _refused _to believe that the mortals that had thwarted him had any interest whatsoever in his wellbeing. Thor was surely being vengeful at this point; he would stand back and let the humans study him like one of their mysterious science projects.

And Loki would admit that he could not blame his brother for wishing such pain and shame on him; after all, he _did_ want to see the Thunderer battered and bleeding at his feet. It was only fair, right?

A bitter smile creased his face in the cold, wet dark. His thoughts were running away with him now. His mind was failing him when it was truly the only thing he had left to his advantage….

Bright lights flooded his eyes even through the closed lids. The rumble was excruciating in its volume now, and he groaned weakly (_pathetically_) at it.

And then it fell silent.

He shivered slightly and wondered when he had become cold. Was such a thing even possible for him, being born of and naturally adapted to the frozen and desolate wastes of Jotunheim?

His teeth chattered as his eyes cracked open against the bright light.

Surely his injuries were to blame for such a phenomenon…

Something suddenly blotted out the light, casting a shadow across him. A face came to peer down at his, and he struggled to focus to see it.

A voice in the background caught his ears:

"Um, Jane, that's obviously _not_ Thor. Erik said the compound was further north…."

Loki bit his lip, his eyes shooting open and a rush of energy seeing his vision sharpening slightly. The woman kneeling in front of him was _the woman_….

Thor's woman.

His head ached when she shouted back at her companion.

"I _know_ that, Darcy! We can't just leave him here; he's hurt!" Loki shifted against the pain and tried his best to glare at her coldly when she turned back to face him. "Are you okay? What happened to you?"

He smiled then, amused despite it all. The fool knew that Thor was on Earth, but she apparently did not know _why_.

He watched as she moved to reach out to his face.

"_Don't touch me._"

The hand at his forehead stalled, frozen, for just a moment. Loki stared into her curious, determined gaze and wondered if he could summon the power to overwhelm this pathetic little human, maybe even use her to….

The hand moved again, landed on his head.

He shivered out of instinct, and then blinked, his brows furrowing in massive confusion. Her hand was warm. So warm that it rushed through him, from his head to his chest to his feet, effectively destroying the cold that numbed him.

He struggled away from her hand, angry at her boldness, disoriented by the effect of her touch.

"I _said_ don't…"

"Shut up, you're feverish."

Loki closed his mouth.

Blinked again.

Wondered why he could not find the rest of the words to snap at her.

The girl by the vehicle shouted then, renewing his frustration.

"Should I call Erik?"

The one he knew to be Jane whirled back again, her hand not leaving his face.

"Yeah. Get him to call that 'Coulson' guy."

Loki sat up straighter against the boulder, clarity trying to reclaim its place in his foggy mind, but fighting in obvious vain.

The man known as Coulson was a SHIELD operative. If they gave away his location…

"Don't. Leave me here." He whispered, coherent but still exhausted.

Thor's little pet stubbornly shook her head at him.

"I don't think so. You're bleeding. _Everywhere_. We're getting you help."

He snarled at her then, angry and desperate to get them away.

To get away himself.

His hand lashed out, grabbing her by the throat, pulling her close to his face and finding her wide, shocked eyes in the dark shadow of her body.

"Get away from me before I _kill you_."

He could hear Darcy mumbling, speaking to someone on her device. He sighed, his fingers loosening around Jane's neck and his head bumping against the rock behind it.

He did not have the strength to kill the girl who was surely giving their position to Selvig, nor enough to snap the neck in his hand.

He could feel her pulse in his palm and he narrowed his eyes at her.

She watched him, quiet and strangely calm.

Loki blinked lazily but did not remove his fingers from her throat. She in turn had only moved to slide her hand from his forehead to his cheek, a thumb running across a stitched gash gently.

He looked down to watch her settle fully on her knees before him, and then back up to see her meet his tired, angry eyes squarely.

"You're not going to kill me. And we're not going anywhere until we get you some help."

Loki felt his jaw lock and he swallowed thickly, the taste of blood on his tongue.

The muscles of his arm finally burned and failed, his hand falling from her throat. She did not move. As the girl called Darcy dimmed the lights on the truck, Loki found himself cast back into full darkness, the rain still falling around them.

He could still make out the silhouette of the woman who sat on her knees between his legs, silent and patient and unafraid.

Her hand remained on his cheek, its warmth a reminder of her existence as the cold wind blew around them.

Loki sighed again, anger giving way to defeat.

The warm thumb rubbed across his injury, so soft that he felt no pain. He tilted his head, watching her with a growing sense of curiosity.

Defeat was much less difficult to succumb to this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Of course I gave in.** _Of course_ I did. I'm a Lokane-obsessed college student trying to avoid actual work. _**Of course** _I wrote another chapter. ;)

But seriously: I'm looking at...maybe a 3 shot here. And it _may_ be something of a prelude to another idea I have in mind. Not certain yet, I'll get back to yall on it.

And of course, you guys...it's _all of you_ that keep me doing things like this. You inspire me with your kindness :)

Be aware that Thor is a prominent character in this particular chapter. Hope you enjoy nonetheless!

* * *

><p>The bright lights stung his eyes again, blaring and unwelcome in their greeting. They were just another reminder of his re-capture: of guards with guns surrounding him, of Thor pulling Jane Foster away with worried eyes and a glare his way, of Steven Rogers snatching him up from the cold, wet muck of sand and practically dragging him to a vehicle.<p>

Loki squinted and felt his head begin to ache.

It was also another reminder of how his body was suddenly letting him know that it was different; in Asgaard, the natural light was always soft enough to never bother him. On Earth, _every _source of light seemed to result in a dull throb of his temples. He did not miss the fact that Thor did not seem to have this problem; the lights were not a hindrance to Asgaardians, it seemed.

But Jotuns….

The Giants lived in a bleak and dreary half-darkness at all times. He was certain that his kin (he _detested_ to admit them as such, but…he supposed it was useless to ignore the truth) would suffer similar symptoms should they find it in their interest to pay Earth another visit.

_Everything_ in the room was bright.

Everything was white, and clean, and shining, and it made him sick just to look around.

His jaw set tight when he moved to raise an arm. Of course, the wretched tubing was back in place, filling his veins with what the mortals insisted was 'important medication'. He snarled slightly and raised the other arm to rip the thing out…

And found that both arms were chained to the bedsides, loose but solid. He sat up slightly and peered down. The chains were of a strange metal, and devices around his wrists confirmed his suspicion that they were of some technology pioneered by SHIELD.

He smiled, amused. The idea of the mortals trying to restrain him, believing that they actually _could_ was….

Pathetic and hilarious.

Loki closed his eyes and concentrated, envisioning the desert outside once again.

Nothing happened.

"Your energy is spent, brother. You are going nowhere."

Eyes snapped open to find Thor standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at him with a gaze that spelled both warning and pity.

He bit into the side of cheek so hard that he tasted blood. Jerked forward a bit against his restrains.

The room suddenly spun around him, the tubing and machines and his brother all swirling into a mostly colorless blob. All went dark for several long moments, before his eyes cracked open again to find Thor just beside him, a large hand settling lightly (too lightly, considering what Mjolnir had done to him just days prior) on the top of his head.

He glared up at the prince with disdain.

Thor stared back with even more pity.

"I do not need your sympathy, you fool. You are the one who put me here in the first place." Loki mumbled despite his attempts to successfully throw an insult.

The room continued to threaten him with its instability.

"You are injured, Loki. And yes, I am the one who did this to you. But…you made me do it. I _tried_, brother. I tried to reason with you and I tried to get through to you. I wanted you to remember your own goodness, and see how much pain you were causing the Earth and its people. And you ignored me, attacked me, for the sake of power and bitterness and vengeance. In many ways, you did this to yourself. And it will only get worse from here…" The deep baritone was quiet and Thor trailed off, hesitation obvious and teasing.

Loki attempted to move his head out from underneath the hand that was now making a ridiculous attempt to massage it. It only resulted in more dizziness.

He relented, nausea threatening him.

Thor was a blur but Loki met his gaze nevertheless.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

The hand pulled away then, and the fuzzy form of his 'brother' stepped away from the bed, slowly.

"SHIELD's machine-the one that simulates the Bifrost—it makes for a chaotic ride, but it will get us back to Asgaard, as soon as you are fit for travel. And you _are_ coming back with me, Loki. Father will see to your judgment for all that you have done."

Loki listened, his consciousness beginning to waver but Thor's words sinking in clearly.

He smiled bitterly.

"I see…and what of Odin's judgment? What happens after?"

"I don't know. Punishment, of some sort. It is up to Father; you know that…"

Blackness surrounded him and Loki shook himself upon realizing his eyes had closed.

He cracked them open, peering through half-lids at the intense but saddened gaze that Thor was bombarding him with.

"This is of course, all speculative, Thor. You do not know if I will escape again…"

He watched Thor's eyes fall to the strange bindings on the bed.

"You will not escape, Loki. You've not the strength for it. And SHIELD is ready, if you try."

Loki turned his head to hear Thor's whisper (or was it just that he was so exhausted that everything now sounded far away?) and he smiled again before opening his eyes fully, the doorway of the room now occupied by the Thunderer quivering and mocking his failing sight.

"Where is your mortal?"

Thor stopped and turned to face him. Loki fought the spinning room and found his brother's eyes widening just slightly.

"What?"

"Your mortal…the woman. Jane, is it? Where is she?"

He did not back down when Thor's wide eyes narrowed, the blue irises darkening visibly.

"Rest, brother. You will need it."

Loki breathed deeply and he decided not to push the issue as Thor walked away, down a brightly lit hall and into another likewise brightly lit room, disappearing from his damnable sight.

He did not mind that Thor had avoided his question.

It was enough to tell him that Jane Foster was in the compound.

Loki reached up to touch the cut on his cheek. His hand was stalled by the restraints.

He frowned.

And wondered why he found himself missing the feeling of warm fingers on his face…


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, some important notes here:**

I apologize in advance for this story sort of…s_topping_. Rather than…_ending_. I am aware of the ridiculousness of it.

**However:** I hope to continue this through a fic that I've neither started on nor have clear ideas for yet.

You guys know I have _no idea_ what I'm doing…**ever**…right? ;)

Hope yall enjoy!

* * *

><p>His world was a blur of half-sleep and all frustration for most of the night; he awoke frequently in a state of achy shock, his mind reeling when he would momentarily forget where he was or how he had gotten there.<p>

And it was no different when he did so at four o' clock in the morning, a shiver shooting down his spine and startling him.

Loki stared at the metal rails on the side of the bed as he leaned haphazardly over it. It was the position he had found himself in upon snapping awake, cold and confused, dull aches throbbing through his muscles and a sharp pain in his arm.

For just a moment, he did not know where he could possibly be; the room was mostly dark, but small lights flickered around him in a blur.

And then he recognized the rattle of the cuffs on his wrists.

Loki moaned in annoyance and lingering pain as he also realized that the sharp twinge in his arm was the intravenous line being pulled at by the awkward position he had curled into in his sleep. He looked over the side of the railing and it became clear just how close he had come to falling over onto the freezing floor.

As if the idea itself was touching him, he shivered again.

Loki scowled and rolled back onto his pillow.

One would think that he, being Jotun, would be able to handle the relatively low temperatures that the medical facility was kept at. He had certainly not been terribly bothered by the frigid snow and ice in Jotunheim.

As he fingered the sore tubing in his skin, he felt another headache threaten him.

Like everything else at present, his intolerance to the cold was probably due to his weakened (and, at this point, possibly _ill_) state. He ground his teeth together and silently cursed Thor for the millionth time.

The fool had surely seen to this out of s_pite_; he was letting the humans poison him, keep him weak, so that he would not be able to resist when the time came to drag him back to Asgaard.

That _had_ to be it.

Loki rolled his head to the side and stared at the machine beside his bed. He did not know what the numbers meant, and he did not know what the clear liquid flowing from the suspended bag was, but he did not like it.

His body was battered enough as it was-he could not have some strange foreign substance being injected into it as well.

Biting his lip, he pulled against the restraints to attempt to remove the tube. While the chains were indeed loose, they were not so that he could reach his arms opposite of his hands. He frowned, eyeing the metal that seemed to sparkle in the twinkling lights of the machinery.

He wondered if Stark had been the one to invent the wretched fetters. They certainly _looked _like something he would create.

But surely, _surely_, they were not so strong that he, a master of sorcery, an Asgaardian, a damned _Giant_, could not handle. Summoning all of his strength, he pulled against the chains again.

Dizziness swam in his head even as fiery pain consumed his entire body. Even he, who had no knowledge of medicine, could tell that his muscles were strained, his body was bruised, and it was very possible that his ribs were broken. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to e_xist_.

"Damn. _Damn_!"

"You're not helping yourself that way…."

Loki felt a tremor rattle his being at the sound of a familiar female voice.

His eyes strained to focus on the small figure standing in the shadow of the doorway, watching him as he struggled to escape. He could not make out her features in detail—partially due to his blurred vision, and partly to the dark shadows of the room, but he knew it was her.

Her quiet whisper held that same determined tone.

"I have noticed. You have some better method of helping me, mortal?" He was mumbling again, content to be snarky with her since she was the only person around to take his agonized frustration out on.

She did not respond, and he did not care to repeat himself. He was far more interested in _why_ the woman was up and about at such an ungodly hour in the first place—and in his room, specifically.

He tried to concentrate on his words even as he felt the familiar drowsiness of exhaustion sneak up on him yet again:

"What brings you here, Jane Foster? I would not think the guard watching this area through the cameras would be very pleased with your presence here."

He watched her lower her crossed arms, and take a small step over the threshold of the doorway, stopping as soon as she entered.

She whispered still, and he thought it useless and silly.

"He knows I'm in here; I…. may have done a little bribing. But he has his finger on the alarm button as we speak."

Loki felt something familiar tingle past the tiredness of his body and the sleepiness of his mind: mischievousness. He smirked at her, and he knew that she could probably see it in the eerie light of the machines around him.

"And Thor? Does _he _know you are here?"

The small shadowed body froze visibly for just a moment, but he caught it. His smirk grew into a grin.

"No; I'm sure he's asleep."

Loki angled his head (ignored the ache of his neck) and eyed her, curious.

"You're _sure_? You sound uncertain. Am I right to assume then, that you do not know because you are not sharing a room with him?"

He attempted to sit up a bit then, suddenly very interested in this mortal that dared sneak her way through the compound in the dark, bypassing his brother's bed to visit _him_. He felt his head swim a bit and fought against it. The rigid posture of the woman in the room was too curious to miss due to his injuries.

He listened closely to her whispered response, pleased with its sudden edge of nervousness:

"I…no, I'm not. That is…I'm not sharing a room with him. I mean…he just got back, and…"

Loki felt the grin on his face pull forth into a full smile, sly-and yet, strangely genuine.

But it faded quickly, when the woman's hesitation forced her to step away, back into the dark doorway.

Something alarming rushed through his mind, silent but real.

He blinked in confusion at realizing the nature of it, of the truth of his reaction: panic.

He did not want her leave.

Loki breathed deep and commanded his heart to stop beating so quickly.

Attempted to cough but found it not worth the resulting body ache.

"Of course. You did not have much time to spend with Thor when he was here last. I digress; tell me….what are you doing awake? It does not seem an enjoyable habit for mortals to be up so long before daybreak." Loki swallowed thickly upon speaking, his throat dry and his voice strained. He shivered again against the chilly metal on his arms.

He damned the mortals even as he conversed with one.

His words held much less acid this time, and prompted the response he'd hoped for. Jane stepped back into the room, and began looking around in the low light.

He cursed the obvious feeling of relief he felt at seeing her come closer to his bed.

"Couldn't sleep. Stark and Fury have me helping get the Bridge going again—it takes a lot of power and even more programming. It barely worked the first time, getting Thor here-"she stopped short and Loki felt his brows rise when she gave him a suspicious look.

He grinned again and read her face clearly.

"It is _dangerous_ to say so much to someone who just recently tried to conquer your world, Jane…."

Loki expected her to step away again at his teasing, to turn in a huff and walk out of the room to the comfort and safety of his brother's bed.

He was surprised when she instead stepped forward again, coming to stand an arm's length away from him.

"Yeah…but you don't look to be in any condition to use such knowledge." She dragged her gaze across him, slowly, and Loki felt himself grow dizzy again as he watched her. "You don't look to be in any condition to travel back to Asgaard, either…."

Loki squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and willed his vision to clear and his mind to focus before meeting her dark orbs in the flickering lights.

He felt another wave of confusion hit him when he recognized concern in her eyes.

He glared at her in frustration and pushed away the strange feelings her look threatened him with.

"You do not _know_ what kind of condition I am in, mortal. You do not know what I am _capable_ of. Do not think for a _moment _that you do. You may be intelligent, but you do not _know me_!" Even as he lashed out at her Loki felt his body begin to shut down again, his world of consciousness crumbling around him and furthering his desperate anger.

For a moment the woman's eyes narrowed at his insult. In his irritation, he found it momentarily pleasing. It even distracted him from the new series of shivering his body was breaking into…

But then the concern was there again, and if not for the darkening of his vision and the slow decay of his focus he would have spat at her to stop pitying him.

Any thoughts of doing so were destroyed when warmth suddenly landed on his forehead.

"Are you feverish?"

Loki blinked up at her, her words registering in his mind but his mouth unable to formulate any semblance of a response.

He felt the warmth of her palm against his skin, seeping into him like something far greater than even the power of the tesseract. His trembled slightly, and knew it was not due to cold. Fingers strayed across his left temple softly, and Loki felt a sudden calm that he could not explain or deny.

Jane pulled away.

"Should I get a doctor?"

He could not stop himself from staring at the hand as it rested against the bed rail.

He mustered something, incoherent to even himself:

"No, no….need sleep….just cold."

His eyes closed and Loki did not fight them. He couldn't—everything had suddenly shut down again, and in what was left of his consciousness he wondered just how long it would take for his body to recover from Thor's wrath.

He did, however, register the feeling of a blanket, previously tangled halfway down the bed, being pulled up against his chest.

Part of him was angry again, his obvious helplessness an outrage to his ego. Part of him wanted to snap at her to leave him be, to stop helping him, to stop…

_Touching _him.

Except that he did not want her to stop doing that. Not really. Not if he was honest with himself.

Her heart was fearless and her hands were warm…

Loki felt the waking world die altogether with that final thought in mind.


End file.
